


Am I My Brother's Keeper?

by Quiltaday



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 15:03:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13743456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiltaday/pseuds/Quiltaday
Summary: This is a brief missing scene for 'His Brother's Keeper'. Real brief. More of a snippet. Barely a missing scene.





	Am I My Brother's Keeper?

**Author's Note:**

> I've recently unearthed my Sentinel fic and am returning to the fandom. As I update some of the stories, I will be posting them here - and I have been kindly offered a home at Brother In Arms Fiction. This one just got some grammar corrections here and there.

  


Softly, gently, the snowflakes drifted earthward.

A light easterly breeze created a swirling effect in their downward decent, like an old fashioned snowglobe. Birds chirped as they fluttered from one feeder to the next. Squirrels darted from tree to tree in search of hidden nuts or other delectable treasures.

Nature was temporarily interrupted by the quiet closing of a truck door.

The lone figure paused to unlatch the white picket gate. Hesitating ever so slightly, he strode purposefully up the steps, eyes straight ahead. Familiar to the homestead, he came to a stop before the stoop. A small sigh escaped him as he debated the climb up the last three steps.

Detective James Ellison fidgeted awkwardly on the porch, rubbing his hands together, and he found that realization uncomfortable. Never one to confront issues of an emotional or personal angle head on if it could be ignored, he somehow felt that these were leaves that needed to be raked up and bagged, not left scattered about carelessly.

Looking up at the house, he considered at the contemporary architecture. The ornate doorway and the etched glass panels seemed so much grander and larger when he was a boy. The gardens were immaculately maintained, even as Fall was encroaching. There was no signs of flaking of paint, either on the house or the fence. The home was obviously owned by one who took great pride in keeping up certain appearances.

His eyes continued up the structure to the northwest corner of the house. His room. On the opposite side of the house as his brother's room. _What the hell were you thinking, Old Man?_ Jim wondered. They lived quite comfortably, never knew want. All the possessions they might ask for were there. Never a missed meal, save for those they were sent to bed without. The right labels on their clothes and the right logos on their shoes. Never a night spent in the cold. All their needs were taken care of.

Well, the physical ones were, anyway.

No amount of toys could make up for the emptiness that the Ellison boys grew up with. The finest schools could never teach the lessons that his father prided himself on teaching his sons. The lessons that you had to look out for number one. That you could not depend on anyone else. That when you least expect it, the one you trusted would let you down. Trust should never be extended past yourself, and not without a back-up plan for the betrayal that was sure to come.

Their education hit closer to home; that nothing, not even love, stayed the same. They learned that love, even the love of a father, came and went at the drop of a hat. Just because someone said that they cared, that they could - and at some point would - change without a moment’s notice.

Love was just another commodity to be traded for what you wanted or needed.

These were the great lessons taught them by their father.

The Ellison boys learned them well.

Jim looked around, taking it all in. Sally was no doubt still keeping the house. A smile danced across his lips as he considered the solitary figure of compassion and caring while he was growing up. She one constant in his life he could always depend on.

He raised his hand to knock, hesitating mid-air.

_“Dad, how was I supposed to know he’d do something so stupid?” “You are his brother, you are older than him. You were supposed to be the mature one. You should have taken him aside and told him it was wrong. Now go up to your room. Anywhere but here. I am disappointed in you, James. I don’t want to look at you any more tonight.” A slap in the face would have left less of a mark “But, Dad, I didn’t do anything wrong! Stephen did it, why doesn’t he get punished? Why me? Why do I have to be my brother's keeper?” His father turned his back “I said move it, mister, and I mean now!”_

The detective shifted his weight, the memories playing like a movie that he couldn’t pause or stop, the feelings as fresh as the day Stephen had vandalized the neighbor’s koi pond and he had been sent to his room – the hunger in his stomach eclipsed by the pain in his heart at his father’s words.

_“Dad, why can't Stephen come?” Jimmy didn’t understand - Stephen hadn’t done anything wrong lately and his grades were good – just as good as his own. So why couldn't his brother come out to lunch and the game like a real family, just this once? “Because I said Stephen couldn't come, that's why.”  The look on his little brother's face was never forgotten_.

One after another, the onslaught of childhood memories bubbled to the surface. Once again, the favoritism intermingled with the unfairness of their father’s parenting left him confused and angry. Perhaps that was why he found himself in such a quandary.

When he saw the photo, his first instincts told the detective there was no way his little brother could be involved in murder, not as an unwilling participant or even as an observer. They may have drifted a thousand miles apart in the city of Cascade but Jim knew his brother. He protected his brother fiercely. He was his brother's keeper and would always look out for him and protect him.

But when he was actually *with* his brother, it was different. All the old feelings they grew up with came back. The anger, the bitterness, the jealousy. He couldn’t see past the feelings even though his brain told him that he was being a fool.

The two young boys desperately vying for a father's attention. And when it was actually achieved, albeit temporarily, it was always at the expense of the other brother and never a stranger. All in some twisted life created by his father to make them grow up to be strong men.

His father.

Jim sighed as he shifted his weight, dropping his gaze. So often he wondered how three people could live in the same city and not once ever cross paths with each other. As a detective he was in and out of so many different businesses, from warehouses to professional offices and everything in between . Not to even see one another – somehow, in that moment, it struck him as odd. Cascade wasn’t the smallest city on the map, but it certainly wasn’t so large that the three men could just happen to never encounter each other. But on the other hand, what would he say if they did bump carts at the market? “Hey, Pop, long time, no see?”. So many years had gone by. Too many holidays, too many birthdays. Too many Christmases.

Too many missed opportunities.

For a moment, the first born son of William Ellison felt a twinge of guilt, the pain of regret.

Too often he himself could have picked up the phone, or dropped a card in the mail. Stopped by, just to see how things were. The feelings were usually fleeting, though. For just as easily as he could have made the first move, so could the other. This was the world their father had created, and it was the world they all would have to live in.

But right now, Stephen was in trouble, a murder with his name written all over it. His little brother needed him.

And no matter how the investigation panned out, he would look out for his brother.

His father may not understand, but it was about loyalty. Not to appearances or bank accounts or the country club, but to blood. To family.

Jim placed his hands in his pockets, his decision made. Perhaps some things were best left undisturbed.

As the man-child turned to go, the gentle snow turned into rain.

 


End file.
